Storm Over the Plains
by not for granted
Summary: AU, Old West: As reformed outlaw, Thalia Grace only regretted stealing three things in her whole life. Femslash, Thalia/Piper.


**A long, long time ago (in a galaxy far far away) I promised to fulfill a prompt for advictorem, who asked for a Thalia/Piper pairing centered fic. Had something, can't remember what it was, planned out. Can't recall much about it other than it was supposed to be zany. But then this writing bug stung me and suddenly I'm writing a Western-setting. **

**I hope that whoever reads this will enjoy it. It might even be more than a one-shot, if I have the time. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson & The Olympians.**

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She knew something was wrong when it was the sun that woke her up before the calf.

Groggily, Thalia rolled out of her cot, padded over naked through her room with the creaky floor to throw on a shift and pair of well worn jeans. Even though a nagging voice in her head told her that it wouldn't do to go out barefoot in the dust, that was precisely what she did, but first she took up her cut-down Winchester out of pure force of habit.

Only then did she grudgingly realize that she woke up alone. It had been a good night, and she wasn't surprised she slept until dawn. Truly, if the ranch had been in her and Underwood's shared possession still, she would have had felt a deal more guilt at her lay-in.

But Underwood had packed up and got himself hitched to some sweet-but-snooty nurse, or teacher, with some flowery name that convinced him that California was growing gold in the streets. He was a decent sort, Underwood, and she would be forever in his debt for leaving her the ranch when so many others were aching to get their grubby hands on the land to till up soil. Perhaps it was that she knew that she'd always owe him that made Thalia feel so resentful towards Grover Underwood. As long as she could remember, she hated to be in anyone's debt.

Thalia Grace was no thief, not anymore. She had stolen before, but that was to survive, not for some thrill or big fat pay. It was worse when she was married. She had married young, and against her mother's wishes, to a desperado by the name of Luke who turned up to have been more full of dreams and promises than he had been luck or patience. When fortunes fell through, so did whatever attachment he felt towards the home they had talked about building. He swore that he'd be back for her, but she gave up hope long before the 'Wanted' signs started getting posted at the Sheriff's office. Not even that big a bounty either... her Luke was full of dreams that didn't measure up when put in the hot sun to dry out.

Since knowing Luke, and she fell in with The Madame at _Montparnasse,_ Thalia had only stolen three things that caused her any grief or regretful feelings. Everything else she could blame on Luke, or claim it was a matter of survival. But three things always managed to land squarely on her shoulders, and she felt the blame for taking them keenly; they weren't necessities, they weren't matters of living or dying, it was just want and seizing, theft born out of covetousness and impatience... and something else, at least of one of those three._  
_

The first had been one of the last things that her father had left to her mother. He must have been a rich man, because he visited twice and left gifts, lots of gifts. One had been for her mother to protect herself with, and even Thalia at a young age (she couldn't quite remember what her dad looked like) knew that meant he didn't plan to stick around to do the protecting.

The .45 Schofield was a thing of beauty that held Thalia's rapturous attention from even a young age. It was, first of all, an instrument of dealing death with a deft hand. The taboo and danger surrounding it, the numerous warnings and threats of getting a tanned hide from her mother, only further served to make it more illustrious in her younger self's eyes. And though it weren't a showy piece of tin but a deadly weapon, it was still a beautiful work of artistry. Pearly handle with a line of brass that was burnished to look golden, and the gun's barrel had a blue-black shine part diamond part storm cloud. After her mother... did what she did, Thalia felt no qualm (at the time) for stealing it and catching the first train out.

She regretted it when she fell in with Luke all the same, and the telegram that her mother had passed made it all the more powerful with the added guilt.

The second thing that she stole, which perhaps was even worse, was a means of escape to further adventure. Only, now Thalia was beginning to think that that right there was precisely the problem. She had hoped and hoped that she would find something better instead of making better where she was, and as such she tended to always end up in the worst spots.

Still, it was a beautiful horse, made for her. Too wild for her long-estranged cousin Percy, with the gap-tooth smile and glossy black hair who didn't comprehend that his older cousin was not yet out of her teens and already illegally married and legally divorced. Blackjack he was called, and she had been allowed to break him in at her uncle's estate, to try to ease him in for Percy to use. Instead she rode West in the night, and counted on the charity of her uncle's mistress Ms. Jackson to persuade him not to send out a posse.

No posse was sent out, and she rode far in the West, with memories of her uncle finally telling her about where her a'wandering father had set off, and Percy's warm smiles and Ms. Jackson's warmer flapjacks with huckleberry syrup... it had been a hard year after. Very hard, and Thalia was almost certain that she'd be swallowed up before the Almighty ever showed her a scrap of mercy.

Of course, as it turned out, there were at least three people who were in the business of looking out for lost souls to claim: God Almighty, the Devil, and The Madame.

At her lowest point, the lowest of the low, Thalia was considering selling her gun. She had tried robbing people, and it left a horrible taste in her mouth the first time she encountered a stage-coach with a family in it instead of a lock-box. Just didn't have the stomach for being an outlaw. Or the skill, her first attempt robbing another gang of rustlers taught her that the hard way. They were... thorough in her lesson.

And without schooling, without prospects, the only place for... ruined women were in houses of 'ill-repute'. She had been warned about those by her mother, between drinks. The tales that she told Thalia, at such a young age, were the stuff of many nightmares. It limited Thalia's choices to selling her gun or eating a bullet.

She could never have predicted The Madame. Founder and owner of the _Montparnasse, _she possessed more glamour and easy charm than Thalia thought possible. Apparently, she knew Thalia's mother, and that didn't seem very flattering. For where Thalia's mother was a... loose woman, a woman of town in all but name, The Madame was a _courtesan, _with men who fell in love with her everyday.

Prayers and perdition, _Thalia_ fell more than a tad in love with her. When she first met The Madame, at her most definite lowest point, she had been immediately offered room and board free of charge in the most extravagant saloon that Thalia ever clapped eyes on.

And The Madame was by far the most beautiful woman that Thalia laid eyes on-

(for the short time being)

-and there were a host of beautiful gals to compare her to in that establishment. When they first spoke, The Madame laughing and eloquently describing the times she had with Thalia's mother, it was love with the first glass of whiskey and tender smile with hint of mischief.

Yes, it only took one night of charity and gentleness for Thalia to be prepared to sell her soul to The Madame, and she had come darn close to just that considering the stuff she had done for service...

Despite occasional unpleasantness and discomfort, ne'er once did Thalia Grace (_the clientele knew her as 'Gracie'_) ever dare to think she deserved more than what The Madame was willing to offer.

That was when she met the third thing she regretted stealing... though if she were ever honest with herself, a dangerous pastime if there ever was one, well of course she'd have to reconsider her definition of 'regretting'.

Only a _hssssssss _at ground level made Thalia break out of her long-winded reminiscing. She was bare-foot on the dust, and there could be rattlers or other such quite naturally hostile reptiles about. She aimed her shortened rifle, wondering if she could get the vermin in one clean crack that wouldn't scare any cattle. It was just a lizard though, one of those frilled dandies, chasing a tumbleweed. Dumb lil' critter.

And no wonder she slept late...

They had no rooster on the ranch, hadn't for some time. Grover Underwood was better at waking up than Thalia was, he tending most morning chores around the household before waking her up without mercy to tend the ranch or ride to town. Lately, the job had fallen on a young calf who lost his mother to a bought of sickness after a damn hard birth to wake them up with his caterwauling. Hard to believe the big baby might get grown into the biggest stud on the plains, but Underwood had held out hope and so Thalia did likewise even after he set out making wagon-trails.

But her new partner couldn't stand the young bovine's distress and set out to remedy it the best way she knew how. So that was where Thalia found her shirt and boots, looking much better on a copper-skinned young woman a deal shorter but shapely to the point of downright curvaceousness, singing in native tongue to the dumb beast. She was sentimental that way.

By the Maker, Mover, Watcher, Shaker and Players, Thalia loved her.

"You didn't wake me up." Thalia called out. The normally twitchy calf only flicked her ear to acknowledge that his normal caretaker was on her way over.

"I did not want to," Piper slowly drawled, in that slow, lilting manner of hers. "You looked peaceful and it was a sight."

"Could've gotten your own clothes." Thalia pointed out, digging toes into the dust 'til she hit dirt beneath.

At that, Piper's tranquil expression turned that same gentle-but-mischievous look that her mother favored. "I wanted yours. You do not like it, I will take them off... but I think you want to do that instead."

"Spit'n'Hellfire," Thalia swore, but her head was feeling light and she could feel a blush working it's way to her sunburned cheekbones, "forget that, you're keeping the boots on."

"It will get dust on the sheets." Piper warned. She always was thinking of that before Thalia, mostly 'cause she took over most of Grover Underwood's old household jobs.

"We both know ways around that," Thalia murmured, closing the distance between them. It was true, considering where they grew up. The Madame had risked her good reputation (which she didn't give a fig for, her words) and her voluptuous figure (which she definitely gave more thought to) having Piper, and doted on the girl since she was a wailing babe to be her finest project and best investment. She'd marry into good company, a rich husband, and Thalia wanted her more than she had wanted her father's finely decorated Schofield pistol or the horse that was supposed to be her younger cousin's... so naturally, like a fool, she had stolen Piper away from The Madame and _Montparnasse, _and probably earned the ire of the last person who would give Thalia any thought. Probably put a bounty on her head too.

But it was Piper... Piper with the melodious, soft way of speaking, with the stilted speech that made you have to listen, _want to listen, _to each syllable. Who could look like a fever-dream in a mess of French-cut frills and tight corsets, but a Heavenly angel wearing nothing but Thalia's overcoat... Piper Piper _her _Piper...

"Did the mail come in?" Piper asked, hesitantly, kissing along Thalia's neck, to collarbone. She had worried that they might get found out, that The Madame might send them a letter of warning before sending the best she could to drag them back. Thalia wasn't so optimistic; there wouldn't be a warning when that time came.

"No," Thalia breathed when clever, deeply tanned fingers unbuttoned her shirt. "I'll have to go into town to pick it up. Shoulda woken earlier, than we couldda_aee_-"

For all her gentleness and swaying about (which did wonderful things with her in just a shirt) Piper fought _dirty. _Her way of getting Thalia to quit the yammering on was to twist a nipple through her shirt quickly, without so much as a change of expression.

Her poker-face broke with a single smile that was a deal more genuine, less charm and more humor, actual lighthearted joy. "Shut up and start up. You talk to much."

"Now that's no fair," Thalia complained, whined really. But she kissed Piper back, glad for the solitude of the ranch. This would cause 'talk' about town, to say the least. Especially once she got her shirt off of Piper. Like a dream in lace, like an angel in leather, and like the Devil's own temptation in nothing but her own skin. Well, and Thalia's boots, but that just meant she didn't have to bend so much to kiss. Patience wasn't her virtue, not when it came to Piper.

The shorter beauty wearing nothing but worn-out boots managed to break free of a rather indecorous embrace, padding along up the porch easily enough despite her feet having no way to fill out Thalia's larger footwear. In a move learned from her mother's example, she tossed gleaming raven-feather hair and shot Thalia her best 'come-hither' look. It was by far the best Thalia had ever witnessed.

"Are you not coming?"

"Well, not _right now,_ we don't have any breakfast." Thalia reminded. "'cause I didn't get to town..?"

Once again, Piper tossed her head, though this was a clear dismissal of trivial matters. "I still plan to eat very, _very_ well."

There were no words from Thalia at that statement... no, that promise. She did the sane thing and rushed in, working the buttons on her jeans.

For the time being, she had no regrets stealing Piper away... for the time being. And the present was a marvelous gift, would be horrible bad-manners not to enjoy it while she could.

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**Note(s): The 'shortened-rifle' that Thalia is using is more popularly called a 'mare's leg'. Made popular by Western TV star Steve McQueen.**

**This started out as a shipping-fic, turned into an exercise in world-building, and I enjoyed it immensely. So much so, this might not be the last chapter. While it's unwise to start yet another multi-chapter fic with so much on my plate already, this is purely for fun. **

**No promises on a second chapter, but I certainly hope anyone reading has enjoyed this. Thank you all, please review! **


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